


Decorum Est

by Vix_Sua



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, PWP, unhealthy relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vix_Sua/pseuds/Vix_Sua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You rebuke me; I deserve it. I shall not deny it. But a man who has failed once is a man who will work all the harder to secure future success. Those whom you trust have little to lose; I, everything. Do not deny me a second chance, for you see that I will not waste it.”<br/> <br/>Enjolras might easily have objected to the claim that this would be only Grantaire’s “second” chance. He might have asked Grantaire just what task he was good for, having already failed to accomplish even the simplest task for Les Amis in the time he’d been among them. Instead, he looked down at Grantaire, severe and imposing as the statue Grantaire had so often named him. “What is it you want, Grantaire? Why are you here?”</p><p>Grantaire answered without hesitation. “I want to serve you. To please you.”</p><hr/><p>For the LM kinkmeme prompt: "service top R/mean fussy power bottom E D/s-y stuff with enjolras letting R know just how gross R is, does R really want to fuck him that badly, how embarrassing, why does he think he deserves touch him, maybe he should just lick his boots, etc etc"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decorum Est

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for all the things you would expect from the prompt: criticism, dismissal, and mild humiliation in a sexual context without any negotiation. Definite D/s overtones, also without prior negotiation (or even a mental framework to think of those things as needing negotiated consent). Enjolras being knowingly and intentionally hurtful. Grantaire not particularly caring. Generally unhealthy relationship attitudes all around. Not a model of good behavior for anyone to follow. 
> 
> (Canon-era; set at a vague point some time after - though not immediately following - the dominoes incident.)
> 
> Original prompt and fill here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/14280.html?thread=13178568#t13178568

Enjolras’ first mistake had been to allow Grantaire to follow him home from the Musain.

It had been a moment of weakness on his part – and in that single statement one might read the whole of his history with Grantaire. It had been a moment of weakness that had led to him to give in to Grantaire's tirade of boasts and complaints and assign the man the simplest task he could conceive of. Grantaire had failed before as their spokesman; Enjolras deputized him as a deliveryman. Even young Gavroche could accomplish that much with ease.

And when Grantaire returned hours later, task unaccomplished, Enjolras had grown angry. Weakness again, to care what a man like Grantaire did with his time or to feel disappointment when Grantaire failed. Enjolras had begun to chastise Grantaire in front of the rest of their company, but he'd felt a spark of pity move him at the man’s pathetic attitude. Another moment of weakness. But Enjolras was not a schoolmaster to chasten errant students in front of their fellows, and a tiny shake of Combeferre’s head when Enjolras looked to him for guidance had told him he was in the wrong. And so he had let it go – but Grantaire had not. Grantaire vacillated between apology and excuse and begging for forgiveness, until finally settling on pleas for another chance to prove his worth. All Enjolras had wanted was to keep the spectacle contained, and so he had brought Grantaire home to plead with him in private. Grantaire had little patience for anything but his own pleasures, and Enjolras had assumed he would wear himself out quickly. He had forgotten, he realized, how deep Grantaire’s stubbornness could go. Grantaire was as adamant in Enjolras’ quarters as he had been in the café. Enjolras had given him nothing, not even hope, but that had only made Grantaire try all the harder.

“Please.” Grantaire’s voice was rough and breathless and he dropped to his knees in front of Enjolras. “Use me. Employ me somehow. But give me a little of your trust, and this time I will not fail you.”

“This time.” Enjolras put no emotion behind the statement. He let it hang between them, and saw Grantaire recoil slightly. The effect was only momentary, however; Grantaire resumed his entreaties without any further sign of shame.

“You rebuke me; I deserve it. I shall not deny it. But a man who has failed once is a man who will work all the harder to secure future success. Those whom you trust have little to lose; I, everything. Do not deny me a second chance, for you see that I will not waste it.”

Enjolras might easily have objected to the claim that this would be only Grantaire’s “second” chance. He might have asked Grantaire just what task he was good for, having already failed to accomplish even the simplest task for Les Amis in the time he’d been among them. Instead, he looked down at Grantaire, severe and imposing as the statue Grantaire had so often named him. “What is it you want, Grantaire? Why are you here?”

Grantaire answered without hesitation. “I want to serve you. To please you.”

“To fuck me.” The words were out of Enjolras’ mouth before he had time to consider their wisdom. It was not that he doubted their truth; Grantaire’s desire was plain for any man with eyes to see. There were some truths, however, better left unacknowledged.

Grantaire did not respond, either to confirm or deny. He simply continued to look up at Enjolras with the same adoring and plaintive expression he had worn for their whole conversation.

“Do you think I’ll let you?” This was dangerous territory, and Enjolras had no business heading down this road. He should turn Grantaire out now – out of his house, certainly; out of their society, perhaps. What he absolutely should _not_ do was indulge the thrill that ran through him at the sight of Grantaire on his knees pleading for his love.

Enjolras was well-versed in ignoring his desires; in years past he had indulged certain of them with a reckless abandon he now winced to recollect. He had been young and foolish, and had nothing better to live for. He’d given up acting on his carnal impulses once he’d found his Cause – celibacy might bring personal frustration, but it was nothing next to the importance of avoiding scandal. Les Amis de l’ABC existed at the borders of the legal and the reputable as it was; a pathic sodomite who bedded men he met in bars was not a man whose leadership would pass without gossip. Figureheads were not meant to be human at all, let alone humans who indulged in petty vices.

Grantaire was just the sort of man whom Enjolras might have found himself in bed with in his past life. A dissolute drunkard who frequented low bars in the seedy parts of town, and showed a marked predilection for pretty blond youths. It was easy to imagine meeting Grantaire at such a place – Enjolras had never had to speak, the men always approached him first once he’d found the right establishments. Grantaire would certainly have spoken to him: he’d never been shy before Enjolras, even when he should have been. Perhaps he would offer to share a bottle of wine, or perhaps he would simply have asked Enjolras if here were selling. That was common enough, and occasionally it had seemed easier to say yes than to try to explain what had truly led him there. Grantaire never had much money, but he would doubtless have emptied his purse if Enjolras had required it. Unlike Enjolras, Grantaire had little practice allowing reason to restrain his desires. Grantaire was ugly to be sure, but strangely arresting for all that, and Enjolras had found it didn’t matter much what the men who fucked him looked like. Enjolras would have been more than willing to follow him back to an empty room and-

And Grantaire would no doubt have proved as disappointing a partner as most of the men he'd encountered that way, Enjolras reminded himself savagely. Perhaps more so, since disappointment seemed to come easily to Grantaire. Hardly worth the risk he would run in using Grantaire to satisfy his own inconvenient desires. But telling himself that did not remove the temptation that Grantaire presented, desperate and pleading on Enjolras’ floor.

“Do you think,” he repeated, pushing Grantaire’s face back with the tips of his fingers, “that if you merely wear out my patience, you’ll find the secret to making me open my legs for you?”

That got Grantaire to speak. “No, never, I wouldn’t dare. But let me adore you; what harm can it do? No harm at all – and benefit besides. I am your willing slave. Exploit my love; I give you leave. I'll do anything to earn your smile.”

“Anything? Are you going to offer to black my boots again?”

Grantaire bent down further to press a kiss to the toe of one of Enjolras’ boots. “If you wish it. You’ll see my tongue can do you service as well as vex you.”

Enjolras ignored the double entendre and slowly lifted his foot, bringing Grantaire’s chin up with it so he could look into Grantaire’s eyes again. “You know I hate servitude and mastery of all kinds. What kind of fool must you be to seek to earn my favor by that I hate?”

“I know you want equality for all men,” said Grantaire. He was short of breath, nearly panting his words. “All men, that is, who deserve it. Do I deserve equality with you, Enjolras?”

There was only one answer to that he could possibly give. All men were born free and equal, and no power on earth could take that away. But when he opened his mouth to speak, those fine words stuck in his throat.

“No.”

Grantaire made a little noise in his throat at Enjolras’ curt denial, almost as though – “Does my disdain excite you, Grantaire? Are you hard for me, with my boot at your throat?”

Grantaire bit his lip, and did not protest when Enjolras moved his boot to Grantaire’s chest and slowly pushed him onto his back. Spread out on the floor, it was easy to see his prick straining at his trousers, and that the flush in his face was not all from drink.

It was not too late, Enjolras told himself, to walk away. It did not have to matter that Grantaire was lying on his floor like something from one of Enjolras’ old fantasies, all but moaning with Enjolras’ boot on his chest. But then – were the risks truly so great? If Grantaire bragged of his conquest in the morning, would anyone believe him?

Would Granatire even believe it himself in the sober light of day?

Enjolras made his decision. He was not to be marble tonight it seemed. “If you’re so eager to please me, I’ll give you your chance.” Grantaire scrambled to get up, but Enjolras refused to lift his foot. “Don’t move.” Grantaire froze in place, and Enjolras pushed him back down the rest of the way to the floor. Then he stepped back, and observed with a faint sense of satisfaction that Grantaire could follow the simplest of commands for at least the span of a few seconds.

He removed his vest, and folded it neatly on the table. He could feel Grantaire’s eyes watching his every movement, and he smiled a little.

“What –” Grantaire began. He stopped, swallowed, licked his lips. Enjolras had just undone the top button of his shirt. “What do you wish me to do?” he finally managed.

“I told you,” Enjolras replied in clipped tones. “Don’t move. That will do for a start.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt, and left it folded next to his vest. He moved to the fastening of his trousers. “You said you want to please me. Very well. I permit it. You want to fuck me. Fine. I accept it. If you’re truly so desperate, let’s see if you can do both at once. Myself, I quite doubt it, but I’ll give you your chance.”

Grantaire let out a strangled moan and clenched his hands into fists. “You – you are not serious, I know that, you mock me and I deserve it, I deserve every torment you can give me, but Enjolras, _Enjolras_ -” His name was another moan, and half a prayer. Enjolras pretended not to hear him and finished removing his clothes. He left Grantaire on the floor without a word and went to search his cupboards for the flask of oil he remembered having left there. He found it and returned triumphantly, seeing that Grantaire still remained exactly where he had left him.

Enjolras set himself down on Grantaire, straddling his waist just high enough that Grantaire’s prick couldn’t brush against him through his trouser fabric. He dipped his fingers into the oil and began to work himself open as quickly and efficiently as he could. Even if Enjolras had been given to show – and he was not – this wouldn’t have been the time for it. He was tight and out of practice, and Grantaire was patently eager enough without any added effort. The last thing Grantaire needed was encouragement to spend quickly.

Grantaire was staring at him in amazement, disbelief mixed with stark arousal. He watched him in silence for a moment, eyes fixed on Enjolras’ fingers as they moved in and out, until finally asking, almost shyly, “Could I – I mean to say, would you permit me – to touch you? That is, to assist you?”

“No.” He twisted his fingers viciously inside himself and nearly gasped. “I need it done right. You can’t be trusted.”

“I could, I _would_ , I’d never hurt you, I _love_ you, I-“

Enjolras clamped his free hand over Grantaire’s mouth. “Quiet. I didn’t ask you to speak. You do too much of that. Understand?”

Eyes wide, Grantaire nodded and Enjolras took his hand away. Grantaire stayed silent while Enjolras finished preparing himself, a minor miracle itself. Enjolras could hardly remember a time he’d seen Grantaire silent for longer than it took to take a swig of wine. It was oddly unsettling, and yet – and yet, the unaccustomed sight of Grantaire doing what he’d been told sent a pleasant shiver through him.

He made himself wait a moment more, working his fingers slowly and carefully to remind himself of the importance of control. Then, just as slowly, he traced a hand down Grantaire’s chest and brought it to rest at the hem of his trousers.

“Citizen Grantaire, will you grant me your consent to use you as I see fit? Keep your answer brief.”

“Yes yes _yes a thousand times yes-_ ”

“Brief.” Enjolras reminded him, and Grantaire shut his mouth with satisfying speed. Enjolras unbuttoned Grantaire’s trousers, and drew out Grantaire’s prick.

Grantaire gasped at the slight contact. It was unlikely, Enjolras reflected, that Grantaire would last long given the state he was already in. That was a pity; it would be a shame to go so far without the hope of much in return.

“Here are my requests.” He gave the last word the same inflection he would have given “orders.” “Do not speak unless you have something to say. I have little interest in pillow talk, least of all yours.” Grantaire gave a silent nod. That was a promising start. “Secondly, don’t come. Not while you’re inside me. Do you comprehend?” Grantaire nodded again, vigorously. Likely it would do no good, but at least Enjolras had tried. “Very well.”

He poured a little more oil into his hand to apply to Grantaire’s prick. Grantaire shivered as Enjolras put his hand to him, but he bit his lip and did not cry out. Enjolras considered praising him for that, but decided against it. Grantaire did not need encouragement for such slight compliance.

He took hold of the base of Grantaire’s prick and slowly – carefully – began to lower himself onto it. He fought back a wave of his own impatience; now that he had truly begun he found himself all the more eager. Rationality won the day, as it always must – patience now would make for a better fuck once he’d adjusted to Grantaire’s girth. _Faith_ , but it _had_ been a long time, and Grantaire was hardy small.

Besides, he did not want Grantaire to see how much he was moved. Grantaire should not believe that his task would be _easy_.

He made himself pause for breath when he’d worked his way down and was fully seated on Grantaire’s lap. He spared a moment then to consider his partner; Grantaire had his left hand curled into a tight fist on the ground, and Enjolras could see the impression of nails on his skin. His right hand was covering his mouth, and there were bite marks on one of his fingers. That, it seemed, was what had kept him so quiet. Now that Enjolras, was paying attention, he could hear a stifled moan from behind Grantaire’s hand as he adjusted his position.

“Good,” Enjolras told him. Grantaire’s hips twitched in a half thrust at the praise, and Enjolras set his hands down firmly, pressing Grantaire to the ground.

“None of that,” he said sternly. “I will be in control, or this ends.” It might have been pleasant to have Grantaire fuck him hard and fast and desperate, but his control already balanced on the edge of a knife. Now was not the time. Perhaps- but now was not the time for _perhapses_ or _somedays_ either.

The position he was in was unfamiliar to him; he had seen it pictured in the sorts of books Bahorel and Prouvaire laughed over together when they though Enjolras wasn’t looking, but his own experiences had been more limited. It had always been easier before to roll over and let some other man do the work. But of course, nothing would be easy with Grantaire. It never was.

He lifted himself up experimentally, and settled back down slowly, savoring the feeling. Grantaire bit down hard on his hand and look at Enjolras with wide eyes, by which Enjolras surmised it had felt pleasant for him as well. But pleasant though it had been, it was not yet what his desires demanded. He made his next thrust fast and sharp, startling a string of curses from Grantaire.

Enjolras stilled, and looked at Grantaire reprovingly. He supposed that bit of commentary could hardly be classified as pillow talk, but he had been enjoying Grantaire’s compliant silence.

“Apologies,” said Grantaire after a moment. His voice was rough and low, for all he strove for a light tone. “They say man acts from habit; mine are all bad. I aim to mend them, but I suppose it will take practice.”

“Hm,” said Enjolras.

“In the meantime, you might gag me,” offered Grantaire. “I would not object.”

The image flashed through his mind unbidden – Grantaire bound and gagged and prostrate at his feet. Grantaire naked and hard and begging for Enjolras’ touch with his eyes when he could not beg in any other way. Grantaire _subjugated_. The idea was repugnant, vile, contrary to everything Enjolras stood for. Yet the thought of it took his breath away, and not only from disgust.

“No,” he said at last. “I think not. Offer again tomorrow when we are all at council – perhaps I will be more tempted then.” It was a feeble jest, and an unkind one at that, but Grantaire laughed weakly all the same.

“If it would please you. But if my rough tongue offends, I have better ideas for how you might quiet it.”

“Enough,” said Enjolras. That was the second time tonight Grantaire had all but offered to pleasure Enjolras with his mouth, and if Enjolras’ hadn’t had another urgent use for him he might have pressed to see how far that willingness went. He punctuated his address with a sharp thrust of his hips. “I am tired of conversation.”

Grantaire cried out again, but quickly bit off the cry and brought his hand back over his mouth. He was gratifyingly restrained as Enjolras settled into a constant rhythm.

There was no denying that Grantaire felt good, or that Enjolras’ body was responding eagerly to pleasures long put aside. He was often slow to reach climax – slower usually than the men he’d bedded – but tonight he could feel himself moving quickly towards completion. If Grantaire could but last –

He closed his eyes and banished all concerns and complications. All that mattered was the sensation of Grantaire inside him and his own hand on his prick. He tried for a moment to imagine that the man he was using was a stranger, someone less bothersome, less troubling than Grantaire, but his thoughts kept circling back. Grantaire serving him. Grantaire taking his orders. Grantaire compliant. _God_ , he was so close. He sped up his pace, grasping the fabric of Grantaire’s shirt tightly with his free hand.

“ _Mine_ ,” he panted. “ _Mine_.” It was nonsense, but he was past caring.

“ _Yours_ , I swear it,” groaned Grantaire. “Body and heart and soul, all yours.”

Without warning, Grantaire reached out and pulled Enjolras down to meet him with a heated kiss. Enjolras meant to stop him, chastise him, reassert control. Instead, he gave a low moan into Grantaire’s mouth and spilled over Grantaire’s torso.

Grantaire kissed him through his climax, until Enjolras was master of himself again enough to push Grantaire back. He felt too drained, too...too pleased, it had to be said, for anything harsher.

It was several moments before he could rally the strength to move. Grantaire was still hard inside him – he had attended _that_ request of Enjolras’ well enough at least – and still breathing heavily underneath him. He lifted himself carefully off of Grantaire, not quite trusting his limbs to hold him.

“Please,” panted Grantaire, “please, Enjolras, let me finish. You were- ah, I cannot say, there are no words. But please, I beg it.”

“You will do as you please,” said Enjolras. “You always do.”

“Yes, but I would please _you_. Would you have me go home thus? I will – but I beg you not to ask it.” Grantaire’s voice was so unsteady Enjolras was almost surprised he could speak. “Please, sweet captain, I burn for you.”

“Then finish. I will not stop you.”

That, it seemed, was permission enough. Grantaire thrust desperately into his hand, and came a few moments later with Enjolras’ name on his lips.

There was a long silence after that – Grantaire seemed out of words at last, or perhaps too spent to search for any. Enjolras, still a trifle unsteady, moved towards the table where he had left his clothes and began to dress.

When he was clothed again, he turned to face Grantaire, who had propped himself up on his elbows to better watch Enjolras.

“Well.” It was hard to know how to follow that, but something had to be said. “Did you find what you came here for?”

“Say whether I pleased you, and then I will know.”

“Do you pretend then that you took no pleasure for you own sake? I would not believe that, even had I not seen the evidence. You wear your desires plainly.”

“I have no desire to hide them.” Grantaire moved slowly to his feet and looked inquiringly at Enjolras. “Do you?”

“I have been quite open about what I desire most. No man can dispute that. The rest-“ Enjolras waved a hand dismissively, “the rest do not matter.”

“True, your mistress need never doubt you. You are ever faithful in her cause. But I am made for doubts, so I beg you again to tell me whether I pleased you.”

“You beg much tonight.”

Grantaire shrugged slightly. “Tonight you have been generous. Why shouldn’t I try my luck further?”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I will know how to answer your question.”

Enjolras weighed his thoughts, unable to explain his reluctance even to himself. Grantaire _had_ pleased him, and therein, he realized, lay the problem. Grantaire’s many disappointments had not been undone, and Enjolras was still angry at him under the pleasant haze of his release. But worse, Enjolras had taken what he wanted from Grantaire for his own sake. As his leader, he had a right to Grantaire’s compliance. As his fellow citizen, he had a right to Grantaire’s passion. But as Enjolras, he had no right to demand either of Grantaire, or to take them when offered. Grantaire had not done as he ought, true, but neither had Enjolras. But to lie would be to compound the sin; Justice demanded honesty.

“Very well. I will say it: you pleased me. But I would rather have been pleased as a patriot than as a man. I cannot give you absolution on that score.”

Grantaire smiled beatifically, as though Enjolras had offered him love sonnets, not a half-hearted concession more rebuke than praise. The expression almost made him look handsome. “Then I have hope. I have pleased you once, I may please you again.”

“Do not rely on it.” Enjolras looked Grantaire square in the face and made his expression neutral. “If you are satisfied, you may leave. I have much to do and too few hours to accomplish it all.”

“Perhaps I could help, if you would let me.”

“You would hinder,” said Enjolras coldly. “As you are doing now.” Grantaire moved to protest, but Enjolras forestalled him with a sharp gesture. “Nothing of substance has changed.”

“Ah well.” Grantaire sighed in apparent defeat. “I never could comprehend substance. Goodnight then, if you wish it.”

“I do.”

Grantaire had moved to the door, but he paused with his hand on the handle. “May I kiss you before I go?”

“No.”

He expected Grantaire to argue, to wheedle and beg, but Grantaire merely nodded, waved a hand in mock salute, and walked out into the night.

A rush of cold wind came through the open door behind him. Even in parting, Grantaire made trouble wherever he went. Enjolras shivered and wondered whether he would have been warmer with the memory of a kiss on his lips.

It didn’t matter. He had always burned bright enough alone.


End file.
